


Dread

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2020-01-07 07:01:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18405533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Lindir has a quick flare up.





	Dread

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings, or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He’s being ridiculous. He understands that. He’s been dealing with visiting guests for a month straight, and another dozen elves won’t change that. And it will be elves—not men, or halflings, or worse, _dwarves_. He’s certainly dealt with worse. There’s no reason to melt down.

But Lindir is cracking, and there’s a frantic, harried energy in each of his off-tempo steps. There’s a minor spike of relief when he reaches his quarters, but as soon as he’s gone inside and shut the door, the panic bubbles up again. He’s no safer in his own chambers. He feels like the walls are closing in on him, which is a ludicrous notion—he lives in the most wondrous, comforting place in Middle Earth. He’s often thought that even the western shores couldn’t hold anything greater. Yet at the moment, his own bedroom feels like a trap. 

Lindir paces by his writing desk, his gaze flickering between the neatly dressed mattress and the open window. It’s a beautiful day outside—bright and sunny, the perfect weather for a minstrel to sit in the gardens and play. Lindir hasn’t had time for such diversions in several weeks. He knows the continuous outpour of visitors has been stressful, but it’s nothing that he shouldn’t be able to handle. He doesn’t know why he’s shaking. He just feels _off_.

He briefly considers lying down. Perhaps he’s sick, except that he knows he isn’t, because even though he’s gone some time now since the last one, there have been other times like this before. He knows his temperament isn’t so solid as it should be. But he thought he’d been getting better. He can’t remember if lying down ever actually helped him in the past. He knows that time will heal him—that’s the only thing that ever truly does—but will sleep pass the time, or will he just lie away fretting all the more?

Wrenching his eyes away and stalking into the sitting area, Lindir rejects the notion of _rest_. No, that won’t help; he’s sure of it. Besides, he wants to be productive. He tries to be a useful person. He wants to _do something_ but feels strangely, uncharacteristically directionless and doesn’t have the will to hunt down clarity.

Even though he has a perfectly good lounge seat by the window, Lindir finds himself sinking to the floor. His robes pool out across the hardwood, his knees drawing up to his chest. He’s breathing harder than he means to.

He shoots to his feet again the moment he hears a knock. It startles him more than it should. Irrationally, he hesitates to answer, but then he sucks in a breath and tells himself to stop being silly. Marching purposely towards the door, Lindir opens it. 

Lord Elrond stands on the other side. Lindir’s cheeks instantly flush, and he’s bowing before he can even get two words out. Completely bent in two, he babbles, “My lord, I am so sorry. I did not mean to neglect my duties. I received word from Erestor that twelve new guest quarters are to be prepared, and I.... My apologizes, I will go see to them now.” Straightening up again like a rod of steel, Lindir attempts to brush past his lord.

Elrond grabs his shoulders before he can get very far. He instantly halts and allows Elrond to turn him, so that the two of them are facing one another. Lindir’s head drops, but Elrond curls a finger under his chin and lifts it up again.

Elrond’s soft frown only compounds Lindir’s agitation. Not for the first time, it seems as though Elrond’s deep eyes are piercing right into his soul, and Elrond is seeing _everything_ about him, from his absurd anxiety in the moment to the underlying personality defects that take him there. But then the frown falls away, blossoming into a careful, compassionate smile that seems to bring Lindir back down from the edge. 

“You are over-stressed, my Lindir,” Elrond deduces, in a low but gentle voice that envelops Lindir. Leaning forward, Elrond brushes a chaste kiss over Lindir’s forehead. He murmurs, “There is nothing to apologize for.”

Lindir releases a long breath that he hadn’t realized he was holding. Elrond draws him in, and the next thing Lindir knows, he’s wrapped up in Elrond’s warm embrace. His cheek presses against Elrond’s broad shoulder, his hands tentatively touching the back of Elrond’s robes. Elrond’s grip is firm and strong. Lindir’s tension pauses.

The hallway is long and empty, but the moment feels intimate and cozy. Elrond begins to gently rub his back and promises, “You need not work any more today; Erestor can handle things in your wake. You have done so well of late that you have more than earned a break.”

Lindir doesn’t think so. But it’s all too easy to simply nod and accept his lord’s wishes. Elrond holds him for a long moment, and Lindir doesn’t dare let go.

When Elrond does eventually step back, Lindir isn’t ready. He stands there, still shaken, but now offered a light in the darkness of his own making. He steps forward, and Elrond allows him in for another hug. This one, Lindir fiercely returns—he clings to Elrond as boldly as he dares. 

Softly stroking Lindir’s hair, Elrond asks, “Would you like company, my Lindir?”

“I would not want to trouble you,” Lindir mutters against Elrond’s robes, even though he doesn’t ever want to let Elrond go. A quiet chuckle tumbles out of Elrond; Lindir can feel it as much as hear it.

“I am a healer, and it is my pleasure to help where I may. But you should know by now that I enjoy your company far beyond that. I assure you, it would be no hardship to stay awhile with my beloved songbird.”

Elrond is such a stable, wise and loving person, and he could probably never understand just how much that helps Lindir. Elrond’s mere presence soothes Lindir more than he would have thought possible. The fear still lingers in his core, but the tremours it causes are dissipating, and Lindir can already see the light on the other side of the tunnel. That seems a tremendous feat.

Eventually, Lindir detangles from Elrond. But it’s only so he can take Elrond’s hand and tug his darling lord deeper into his quarters, where Elrond slowly but surely sees him through the fire.


End file.
